We speak the same language
You and I
By feeling
and breathing
and moving
and playing.
And playing...
Jazz. We improv
our lives
and we have our own language
and now I feel it.
My body rolls
to the smooth croon
of that saxophone
coming in like a train
soft intensity
and then it fades in the tunnel of this sound
moving
pitta-patta
to that metal-wood
chika-chika-chika-chika
drum-thrum
playing with your eyes closed
and your body
open.
Piano keys echoe
raindrops on crystal
surround sound of my soul.
Bass notes plucking the chords
of me, his fingers are
slapping 'gainst the base of my
spine.
I can't stay still
to this rhythm
too phantasy to break
like dreams
clouded as waking
crashes you to your feet
applause to seal the memory
with a burst of growing intra-rythm.
It's a connection; a
mutual musician respect.
“We down” so to say.
Speakin' some good conversations.
New versions
unwound and springin' up in beauty coils.
Let's see 'em wind.
I can hear the spirits
SCREAMING
They're hollerin' out in exhaltation.
This music makes them soar and
I can hear 'em
wwhhiiiirrrr.
Can't you feel that moving
through you? That's strong.
Someone just died somewhere and
I was just reborn.
That last note held grips me
to orgasmic,
spiritual experience.
My toes point and my heart
lurches forward.
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